Compression
by Jessica Holmes
Summary: He says his name is Leon. He doesn't say much else. This is my take on a story that could happen between Squall and Tifa, without miraculous cross-over tricks; Just a case of martial arts and time compression. Set after both games.


Tifa pushed the door open to Cloud's room and knocked lightly as she poked her head in;

Gone.

She didn't even have a reaction to that anymore. With her hand still on the door handle, she simply retraced her steps and backed out, and closed it. She turned to look over her shoulder. "Come on kids -" She called, before making her way to their rooms. They were going to Barrett's at last. Not just to stay, but to live. Denzel had taken it hard. But Tifa had somewhere very important to go and finally opened her eyes to the bigger matter of her own life. Selfish? Yes. She cringed every time she thought about what she was doing, but after over a year of holding onto them, both Barrett and Cid had persuaded her to let the two have a stable home in Corel. And the afternoon she found family photographs replaced with flower fields on his desk, she made her new decision for both her and Cloud.

The house was ridiculously empty when she closed the door behind them. She stood there looking at the door, listening to the car engine fade away, Denzel's laughter about his new school only out-done by Barrett's joy of a son. Nearly teenagers, he had said. The boy will be fit for training soon enough – Tifa could already see it. But he was no longer looking up to Cloud. The way his eyes had widened in awe the day Barrett (not Cloud) came to his aid before Bahamut, the boy's loyalty changed for the better.

Tifa hurried out of the entrance hall and picked up the phone on the wall.

After a few dialling tones, he answered.

"Tifa – are you anywhere near leaving?"

Tifa nodded, whilst shrugging on a jacket. "Yes. Keys, Card, Phone, Gil."

"Tickets?"

She shook her head. "No. I'll be driving."

The wise voice on the other end sighed heavilly. "And what of the crossing?" Need he ask.

"Taken care of." Cargo ship.

"This case is urgent Tifa, need I remind you. Promise me again that your life is with you, that you are leaving nothing, no-one behind."

Tifa, for the first time in her life answered the question head on.

"I am certain. There is nobody waiting on me now."

To that the older man smiled, she could hear it in his voice.

"May I ask out of curiosity…?" The voice began, reassured the serious matters were out of the way. "Why is it you go against the sage's wisdom and do not use your bird for the journey?"

"It belongs to him."

She put the phone down.

With her keys in her pocket, she buttoned up her short jacket and straightened her jeans. The house looked ready for her to leave she noted, looking over her shoulder. She turned slowly, thumbing the surface of the phone that sat in her hand. The place was not hers. The bar, closed. It was all his to sell. She had already sold the villa she half paid for. She told him in a simple text message on his phone. No response.

She pushed hair out of her eyes and grabbed a shoulder bag, slinging it behind her as she headed for the door. It was early. She locked up. Walking down the entrance steps, she leaned over to throw her belongings in the back of the car. Most of her belongings had sold separately, bedroom furniture, piano. Only her clothes and a few sentimental items were worth keeping now. She grabbed the car door handle and slipped into the front seat, door pulled shut behind her. For a moment she checked her mirror, looked behind her for 'pedestrians', and once she saw that nobody was there, nobody was waiting she turned the key in the ignition. The keys sat dangling there while she held still, hands on the wheel. The engine hummed and she shook her head for keeping it waiting. Swinging an arm round to rest on the back of her seat, she looked behind her while she reversed out into the road. Swerving back to sit forwards, she pulled the gear stick into place before hitting the gas pedal.

She didn't pass a motorcycle on her way out of the City.

* * *

It was raining. The windscreen wipers were going in a blurred pace, swiftly sweeping across the glass in a way that made Tifa feel more exhausted. The ship crossing had been an unsettling one, and her mind almost wandered to Yuffie. But she was too focussed. Her old master's training was weighing heavily on her thoughts, steering her mind free of all prior attachments.

She swerved hard on the tarmac and shifted gears as the road steered off course. The stones on the dusty pathway bumped against the tires coaxing Tifa's foot off of the pedal. At a slower pace, she was still ripping through the trees that pot marked the roadside. Her jacket swayed in its seat beside her, and her white shirt still clung to her body in the claustrophobic heat. Steam shrouded the windows behind her, rain falling on the outside in a blur. Cracking her neck, she blew out a held breath through her lips and pulled on the gearstick once more. The car shuddered up onto a narrow bridge, and Tifa couldn't help herself admiring the view of the green lands below, covered in a mist at this high altitude.

The road was pretty much straight forward from here on in. So she sat back and steered one-handed. Wiping a clammy hand on her thigh, she moved to sweep away the gathering of sweat on her forehead using the back of her palm. For a moment she wanted to close her eyes and think on life, reflect, self-obsess like always. But instead she took her eyes off the road for a second at a time while she rummaged beside her for a bottle of water. Flipping the cap one-handed, she poured it between parted lips and grimaced at the chill against her teeth. The cooling pack in her bag did its work and she had thought more than once about shoving it down her shirt. But it was much more useful where water was concerned. Last thing she needed was to dehydrate. So she chucked the bottle back with its pack and put both hands back on the wheel.

The car sped past an old wooden sign in a rush, the rear lights bright against the pale blue of dusk.

"Wutai".

* * *

A heavy blade swung through the tight air of the room, light sounds swinging with it from the force. A pair of strong hands turned and manipulated it, curving the tip in large arcs around him. The man had been practising for hours, light fading into shadows through the blinds and covering him in dark stripes. Two blue eyes caught the glint of dusk from outside, but he was focussed still, shoulders rolling with his movements. Boots skidded on the floor as he moved his feet rhythmically, a heavy silver chain swinging from his neck. All of a sudden the blade transferred to one hand and the man circled it to lose momentum before shoving it into a wall bracket. He walked with deliberate stride over to the corner of this small, wooden clad room and shrugged off the fur-lined heavy leather of his jacket. As he pulled the sleeves of with his hands, he could see figures moving in shadows against the large white panelled screens that barred the entrance to his sanctum. He could only watch in his ever-fixing glare before walking to the blade and pulling it out with spiteful force. He was still angry. The old man's ravings were useless. He cast his eyes down and pulled his belts back round to the front where they were meant to rest and tugged out his white shirt. Shrugging exercise into his arms for a second, he stretched until his back cracked before taking his rage out on the air once again.

* * *

Tifa ran through the quaint garden in the outskirts of Wutai. Her feet splashed into the puddles gathering over the stone slabs that lead a path, the rain thrashing down from above. She blinked. Hair was sticking to her on all sides, the ends of her fringe irritating her right eye. Her bag swung from side to side during her sprint, her jacket held uselessly over her head that ended up curling around her outstretched arm. All at once she ran up to the door, not allowing enough time to slow down.

The bang alerted the man sitting inside, and just as old eyes turned to look, Tifa came through the door.

She whirled round and forced the door shut sharply, sighing for a moment in relief to catch her breath. Thinking on it, she let out a small laugh at her expense and wiped her brow with her forearm while she walked into the room. And all of a sudden her weight lifted and she dropped her belongings right there on the floor.

"Zangan…" She breathed, already making her way toward him.

The old man's eyes seemed to twinkle at the sight of her and he opened his arms, wrapping them around her still muscular frame. It was truly like welcoming his own daughter back to his home and he nodded the confirmation to himself. Shortly after, they parted, still supporting each others arms. "Safe journey I trust?" The familiar aged voice asked, mirth in his eyes at the clearly distressed sight of her. Tifa laughed. Her hands motioned to herself. "Clearly".

"Okay let us begin." He started, and Tifa only left his side for a moment to gather up her things before rejoining him in his pace. "You know why I asked you here, but I left much undisclosed for my own reasons." Tifa nodded. Her mind shut everything else out. "Cloud being one of them."

Tifa almost tripped over her own feet.

"I see I was wise to." Tifa shifted her bag from one hand to the other. "He is your life, still, after all these years."

She wanted to interrupt him, but sadly knew better. Biting her tongue at this moment felt like when she was a student way back when, dying to retort. Perhaps he was right, maybe she hadn't matured. She shook her head without realising it.

"Oh?"

Tifa blinked. Zangan had stopped, and turned to look at her. For a moment they looked to one another, trying to see through the barriers. In the end Tifa slumped her shoulders in defeat and looked away out of a nearby window. "It was impossible for me to live a day without seeing him." She said quietly. "But the sight of the back of him is all I have grown used to lately. And now, nothing. Please do not disrespect me master, I am willing. I am here. I have no ties like I promised you." _It just took me a year to get there…_ she thought. She met him with an unconvincing smile. "Please, let us continue."

Zangan knew her better than she would ever give him acknowledgement for, but he nodded all the same.

From then on the subject was changed.

They walked through the grand house, all kept on one level as was the usual in these Western lands. Screens separated each room from the passage that ran through the layout. Tifa noted mentally how her master had kept the garden here that he used to tell her about when she was younger – and then it dawned on her that she had never set foot here. Not many of his students ever did. But it did not reassure her, on the contrary. What was of such importance and urgency for him to call on her like this?

Finally, Zangan placed a hand on Tifa's arm to slow her and she looked at him expectantly. Zangan's eyes were aimed forwards and he motioned her to follow his gaze with a slight nod of his head. Tifa did as instructed.

They were looking in through a translucent screen that gave way to a small square room. And Tifa was instantly intrigued by the man viciously practicing inside. The way his body moved showed a brute strength, as if the thought of materia had never touched him. He looked like he didn't rely on anyone or anything. For a moment the man paused, and his eyes seemed to flicker toward their direction before he moved out of sight. Zangan glanced discreetly at his former student, knowledgeable in the look he saw in her eyes. This was the beginning of an interest and a curiosity that would turn her path elsewhere. He had seen that captivated glance only once before when she was a young girl.

The stranger inside re-emerged free of his jacket and started up again without so much as a warm-up. Tifa looked taken aback and finally peeled her eyes away to turn to her instructor.

"He calls himself Leon." Zangan answered without prompt. Then he reached out and pulled the screen aside. Tifa stood unprepared and dumbfounded. Standing dripping wet, belongings haphazardly gripped in one hand, she really did not make the best introduction. But the man inside simply stood still paying sole attention to Zangan. "I have told you countless times, use a lighter blade." Zangan said calmly, entering the room to leave Tifa in the doorway. He walked to the far wall and gently lifted a fine slim blade from its rack. But the man referred to as 'Leon' looked unimpressed, nor willing to comply. He turned his head away and looked down at the ground.

"You must refine your sense of balance and grace during combat. Force alone gave you that scar, be mindful of that." Zangan stated as he approached the man. But the stranger did not accept the instruction. Simply stood there. Tifa watched with parted lips. She had never seen such disobedience. A mere council with her master was a rarity well paid for, but tuition? Anger twinged inside her at the thought of someone disrespecting the honour.

And with that she understood. Zangan had never failed his students yet, but he was finally calling for help from another. She looked to a pair of downcast blue eyes.

The reason she was here, was him.

* * *

Tifa walked into the room. Zangan turned and look as if he were about to make an introduction, but she simply held a hand up. The old master frowned slightly in confusion before departing. The only sound for a long time after that was the sliding of the screen doors closing. Tifa stood with her arms folded at the opposite end of the room. She looked dead on at him but the man just stayed there, blade rested idly in his hand, the tip steady on the floor. He was in profile to her, his head down, face to the wall. Tifa still stood calm, blinking a few times but other than that there was nothing. She noted with interest that the air still didn't feel heavy between them, they were neither willing to fill the silence with nonsense. Perhaps they were both sick of hearing it?

So she decided to communicate in a different way.

She snatched a blade from the wall and flicked it deftly in her wrist in one swift motion. It was held ready at her side, poised and pointed with its tip to the ground just like his. Hers was slick, nimble and fine; Everything his was not. Again neither moved. Tifa could feel her dark hair weighing on her, still soaked through. Waters from it ran down her back and over her shoulders, her white tank nowhere nearer to drying. Goosebumps started to creep up in a web of dots on the exposed skin of her neckline and bare arms, and her long jeans started to stick to the tops of her bare feet. She twitched her toes, and that was when he suddenly came at her.

Off guard like a rookie, she could only swing her blade up in defence. Her eyes snarled at him as they stood there, blades clashed and held together. By the way she were angled, body curved to aim her right shoulder to him, she could only see the left side of his face from under the thick edge of her hair. One blue eye stared, a dark eyebrow slanted above it in some emotion like anger, annoyance, revenge. She didn't know him well enough to judge. A red mark started underneath thin short bangs in the centre of his forehead, but by barely glancing Tifa couldn't follow it much further. He had a slim, sculpted face. It reminded her of a blonde soldier she once knew. But the dark hair was different. Long; But not meant to be. She frowned and he noticed; The strands were split at the ends, thin, lengths misshapen, left to grow scattered, leaving a mid-length style that looked surprisingly apt and suitable for him. The lengths framed the contours of his face perfectly, at first tucked behind his ear poking out underneath, others were tickling his cheeks when he breathed. It was meant to be shorter once. She could look further, see that he was meant to be another person, but he realised and didn't want her there.

He swiped his sword clean from hers and this time she stepped quick, turned her body in a lithe circle that made a sound akin to a blade swiping clean air. The fine silver scratched along his before he could form another advance. But she retreated. Stepped back. Held her blade at eye level, two brown colours looking straight at him from over the top. Her hair was longer. Darker. No light blemish, or streak. She wasn't smiling either, nor shrugging her small shoulders in that feminine way and coaxing him with a nod of her head. No. She was all stance and readiness and focus. Her clothes were mature, normal, plain. But her arms were strong and powerfully interesting. He watched her as she swiftly lowered her blade. He watched her as she put it back. He still hadn't lowered his blade when she bent down to gather her things. She closed the screen on him and he saw her shadow disappear down the corridor.

He let his blade rest. For once he wanted to hear someone speak.

- - -

**Author's Notes: **I have always been pushed to find fiction written about these two characters, so I decided to tackle it myself; being the little twitchy thing that I am. Basically, I am throwing around a lot of ideas on where to take this story and I hope you guys come along with me, but while you're reading this some of you will no doubt be thinking about other things...so let me just go over something. WHROM is still not near its next chapter. I am sorry, but I can not see a good way to start it yet, I will do though. The support for it has been surprisingly large! On a better note, Locked in the Vault is half done - the next chapter I mean. And I have emailed a sample to a few of you, the feedback was positive so I'm not long off putting that up. Basically, I am not going to sit here in my Lordy chair and demand fifty reviews until the next chapter - knowing me if I ever got that by some miracle, I still wouldn't be any quicker updating. So all I will say is, thanks for looking me up after my unscheduled 'hiatus' or whatever you people call it. My good friend Gordon has already made a piece of fannart for this opening chapter, and I'll let you guys see it when the next chapter comes up.

Thanks everyone.

- Jess.


End file.
